


Shades of White

by ThisisVenereVeritas



Series: Color-verse [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Blind Character, Family Feels, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4814147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisisVenereVeritas/pseuds/ThisisVenereVeritas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the color of Dressrosa, his crew, his family. Short stories centered around a blind Doflamingo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Trebol held a gun to the store manager's head, while Diamante leaned an elbow on the counter, attempting to flirt with a teary-eyedstore clerk, choosing to remain completely ignorant of the situation. Pica stood in front of a row of dark, tight fitting slacks, pondering over whether he might look adequate in them. Somewhere in the sea of apparels, Vergo and Doflamingo snickered, tossing feminine undergarments in the air.

The boutique had only been open for a few weeks before getting ransacked by the small group of delinquents. Aisles of relatively expensive clothes adorned with silk, top of the notch leather, or hand stitched with decorative designs were now victims to filthy fingers, sniffing noses, and the scent of developing adolescence.

"It shouldn't take too long." Trebol gestured a large hand over in the direction of the already deteriorating store. The manager sniffed, shaking her head. She did not understand why this was happening, to her most of all. "The boys just need a few things," he reassured. "You know how kids are? Always growing out of things."

Diamante continued to sweet talk the frightened brunette; tipping his hat down and making sure his voice retained a smooth tempo, despite the increasing sounds of laughter and hysterical cries.

The final sales clerk stood in the middle of it all, picking up bras that Vergo handed to his companion. Doflamingo felt them and imagined up the typical thoughts of an eleven-year-old boy, before throwing it over a shoulder.

She kept her distance, detecting the danger in the form of the long, blood stained pipe held by Vergo, along with the maniacal movement of his blond friend.

"What do you think?" Vergo yanked a red top from its hanger, and shoved it into Doflamingo's hands. The clerk watched as the boy remained staring out, his head not lowering to survey the gaudy top he had been offered, instead letting fingers trace across the buttons, rubbing the fabric between thumb and fingers, pressing it up to the side of his face.

"Not soft enough," Doffy answered, letting it fall to the floor.

Vergo grabbed another top. "How about this one?"

Diamante reached out and let his bony hand take the frightened brunette's. "Girl, you must be related to the sun or something," he sang, a sly grin spreading across his face as she sniffed, "cause you're brightening up my day!"

"Pica, not those," Trebol muttered whilst picking through the contents of his nose. The boy, holding on to a pair of tight jeans, looked up at Trebol, pouting indignantly. Said person shook his head, the action causing the gun in his hand to press against the manager's head, earning a sharp yelp. "You'll grow out of those in a month, and we'll have to do this all over again!"

"I like this!" Doflamingo smiled, hand clinging to a top that he had brushed against. He turned his over, other hand outstretched, fingers curling and sending out an array of invisible strings over to Vergo. They latched on to the boy's shoulder, the sensation notifying Doflamingo it was ok to give a tug. "Vergo, come here!"

The sale's clerk put a few more discarded garments away, when she saw the two boys interact in the girl's section. The one with the bowl-cut spread the shirt out, checking the size, smiling and telling his friend that it would certainly fit him. The boy cheered, clapping his hands as he took it, rubbing the cloth against his face, cooing at the sensation.

"It feels so nice." The comment threw the clerk off.

"The tag said Alabastan cotton." She watched Vergo look around the area, very much aware that they were in the section intended for young girls, not boys. "Want me to see if there are any more?"

The blond grinned, alerting the young woman of the situation. "Yes!"

Vergo surveyed a few more clothes in the immediate area, stopping and pulling out a pastel-pink shirt with long sleeves and many ruffles. The clerk shook her head at the gaudy choice. She frowned when he checked the tag, smiling at his choice. Her lips curled inward when he offered it to his friend.

"This is the same material," Vergo said to Doflamingo.

"Oh, I like it." The boy squeezed it in his hands. "It's so light and soft. I want it."

Vergo shrugged. "Cool."

"You can't wear that."

Both boys turned and faced the clerk. Doflamingo clung to his selection of clothes, and Vergo lowered his shades, staring her down while lifting his hand up and reminding her of the weapon he held in his hand.

She shuddered at Vergo. "You're his friend, right? Why would you offer him that?"

Doflamingo's face hardened, head tilting as he continued facing in the direction of employee's voice. He gathered his clothes in one arm, lifted a free hand up at the clerk, and spread his fingers out.

"You know what section you're in right?" she asked, sounding more offended with every word. "You're offering your friend clothes–"

"-That are waaaay tooooo big!"

A large hand grabbed the clerk by the shoulder, pulling her to the side and placing her out of Doflamingo's range.

She looked up and stared at Diamante, who now bore a threatening glare.

"Did you check the size of that blouse, Vergo?" Diamante asked, still leering down at the young woman, "that shit's gonna pour down Doffy's shoulder. I mean, sure, a size larger is one thing, but that might as well be a dress!" He squeezed her shoulder, to the point where it created a dull ache. "And Doffy, winter's around the corner…you gotta think layers, man. Layers!"

She winced, struggling to hold in a cry as Diamante continued to squeeze her shoulder in front of the two boys. When tears started to run down her face, Vergo smiled and lowered his weapon.

"It is a little big," he stated.

Doflamingo dropped his hand, and then brought his head down at the clothes in his arms. "I really like the way it feels though."

"Well," Diamante said. He slapped a hand across the woman's mouth. "You can go ahead and take it with you, and once you're big enough, can wear it when you please."

The last thing the clerk saw before being dragged off was the blond smiling, cradling his selection as though it were a treasure of sorts. Diamante continued holding on to her shoulder as he guided her to front of the store, back with Trebol and the other two frightened associates.

Trebol scoffed, making a face at Diamante. The younger man shrugged, and shoved the clerk over to her friend.

She shivered, grabbing and rubbing her sore shoulder. "Those are woman's clothes," she muttered.

"Our captain prefers comfort, above everything else," Trebol muttered, waving the gun around. "Best not to make a big deal out of it. Really, you're lucky Diamante has a thing for pretty faces, otherwise he'd have tied you down and let Vergo play pitching-practice with ya!"

All three employees of the boutique stared helplessly as Trebol and Diamante broke into a fit of laughter. Diamante quickly went back to flirting with the two girls, ignoring their tears and doing what he could to earn a few numbers without the use of force.

Pica managed to find three pairs of pants that fit his unique frame.

Vergo and Doflamingo offered each other different variations of clothes. Once they had a decent pile between the two of them, they headed over to the main counter, to meet with the remaining executives. Doflamingo raised a finger, anchoring a string to Vergo, and used it to bring himself closer to his friend.

"Vergo," the boy whispered.

"Hmm?"

"It fits, doesn't it?" the boy asked. Vergo hesitated, but then gave a nod of his head, the vibrations causing Doflamingo to frown. "I knew it," he said, voice filling with rage.

"She's just a dumb woman." Vergo shrugged, the movement running up the string and causing Doflamingo to pout.

"I know."

"You can wear whatever you like," Vergo insisted, placing a hand on his friend. He brought his face up close to Doflamingo's. "Personally, I think the pink top looks nice on you…"

Doflamingo blinked, feeling his heart race at the sound of the fond word. "It's pink?"

"Yeah."

Somehow, his fingers managed to fish thought the massive collection in his hands, finding the right top, with it's many ruffles. An old, familiar feeling arose inside as he gripped it tightly in his hands. "I knew it."


	2. Chapter 2

Vergo leaned against the wall of an alleyway, bringing a dirty rag soaked in rainwater to his feet, attempting to rub away the grim from his feat.

It was a cold, miserable morning. The boy spent the majority of the night hidden under filth, trying to avoid the terrible weather. Too much rain meant pneumonia, and years on the street taught him that people had better things to do than help an ailing orphan.

He rubbed the worn cloth against the soles of his feet, trying to scrub away oil, mud, and tarry scum. Despite his placement in the caste system, Vergo wanted to look presentable. He was an unwanted little bastard left out to die shortly after this birth, but that didn't mean he couldn't have standards.

After wearing down the rag, Vergo lifted it away and witnessed the wonderful sight of a nearly clean foot. It was splotchy, reddened from being rubbed so much, and every toe and parts of the foot were calloused. His toenails were in need of a deep cleaning, but it was an improvement. Sadly, the rag was beyond use.

Vergo sighed, shivering a bit before tossing it at the wall.

He would've searched for more fabric, but the sound of a rooster alerted him that the sun was about to rise, which mean the baker would be prepping new bread, and tossing out yesterday's old loaves. Eager to get there before the bigger, aggressive gang members did, Vergo ran off, letting his newly cleaned foot hit against the dirty stone floor.

By the time Vergo reached the back end of the bakery, the sun was making its appearance, rising up and blinding the boy with intense light. He checked the dumpsters, disappointed to find that the containers were empty. He searched underneath and found a stale loaf of raisin bread. It would make for an unsatisfying meal, but it was a meal, and the boy could not guarantee the next, not with the weather being so bad. Hardly anybody would leave their homes today, and that meant fewer loaves would be prepared.

He stowed his bread in his shirt and went back to searching, running deep within the dark recesses of the town.

He stopped in-between the tailor and the butcher's, sitting down on top of an apple-crate. He pulled out the loaf and ripped a piece, stuffing it into his mouth. While the taste of raisins made him wince, Vergo caught the conversation between the butcher and his wife as they carried chickens to their execution

.

"Did you see 'em, Jack?"

"I sure did." The old man sounded gruffer than usual. Vergo pulled his legs to his chest, nose flaring in preparation for the fresh smell of blood. "Nasty little monster, the two of them."

"There's two?"

"Mhmm, and they're just as pathetic as I could've imagined," the butcher scoffed. "You should have seen the looks on their faces when we caught them sneaking through the Hudson's garden." A laugh, followed by the clucks of a chicken placed on the board. "Little bastard pushed his brother out of the way, sent him off running. The older one…he was something, let me tell you."

"What do you mean, Jack?"

Vergo stared at his loaf; unsure if he should have another bite this early into the day. He convinced himself the blood and chicken heads would warm him up. And the taste of raisins left a strange sourness in his mouth.

"He just wandered around, arms out, like he was trying to grab something." Vergo rubbed his face, listening to the promising sounds of a hatchet cutting through feathers and flesh, followed by the frantic flaps of a headless bird. "Didn't seem to know where he was going. Ended up stumbling on the cabbages, like some fucking retard."

"Wouldn't surprise me," the wife remarked. Vergo listened to her chuckle. "Them Celestial Dragons had to keep the blood pure."

The butcher laughed. "Well, we caught the mongrel. Caught him and beat him black and blue. Made him think twice about stealing another man's hard work."

"Hah!" The wife's laughter made the boy nervous. "What do those folk know about hard work? And thinking for that matter! Really, I'm surprised you let him off the hook. Damn thing's better off dead. It would save us a world of trouble."

"Thought about it," the butcher replied. "Trust me, I did. But the boys and I decided to let him go, for now."

"Why on earth would you do that now?"

"Aside from the hilarious attempt the lil' shit gave when he tried crawling away?" The hatchet was rinsed under some flowing water. They would return to the house at any moment. "Harvey mentioned trying to find out where they were hiding. If we leave the kids alive long enough, they're sure to stagger off and show us the hole they've taken up…"

Once the door closed Vergo crawled his way over to the massacre that was left behind. He scooped up three heads, and then debated where he ought to cup the blood with his hands, or use from the stale bread to soak it up like a sponge.

He knelt down, smiling at rather large pool of fresh blood, freshly drained from the chicken.

"What the fuck!"

Vergo jumped. The butcher had returned, carrying a sharp knife in his hands. He sneered at the crouched boy, looking repulsed by Vergo's attempt to nourish himself through whatever means.

"Fucking brat!" He raised his knife up.

Vergo took the hint. He made a mad dash in the opposite direction, dropping one of the heads, and nearly risking the loss of his stale loaf. But he'd witnessed the cruelty of men and women, and knew that the butcher would have no problem cutting and leaving him to die on a cold day like this.

The rest of the day was spent just surviving. The weather made another turn for the worse, and Vergo didn't have to worry about keeping his feet clean. The cobblestone paths were soaked in icy water, and scraping his feet against it left soles and toes clean, red and stinging. The boy shivered, looking for a decent source of covering to keep the rain at bay, when he caught the sounds of someone yelping in the distance. He stopped, wiping his face when he heard another cry.

"Roci, run!"

Despite his better judgment, Vergo followed the sounds of teens yelling at one another. Gang on gang violence was the norm, but he did not recognize the name that was called out.

"Look at him cry, what a baby!"

"Haha, whatcha gonna do, now that you're all alone!"

Vergo stopped at the corner, clinging to the wet brick wall. He caught the sight of two older teens kicking and hitting a smaller boy. It caught him off guard. For the longest time, Vergo had been the only boy his age to roam the unforgiving streets. Most boys his age gave up and surrendered to the factory.

This one was new, dressed in clothes that still carried splotches of pure white to them.

"Lookit the lil' faggot cry!"

"Stupid dragon-brat!"

Vergo wiped his nose while the motto "power in numbers" rang in his head. He had no weapons to frighten them away, but it didn't stop Vergo from running up and jumping on one of them. Latching on with his legs while laying out rapid blow's against the side of the teen's head.

"What the fuck?" The other boy stopped his tormenting and turned on Vergo, grabbing and yanking him off of his companion. Vergo was thrown to the floor, his head smacking against the stone. The rain fell, and there was a flash of lightening. When Vergo stared up, the two boys surrounded him, grinning with evil intent.

"Well, well." One of them crossed his arms. "Lookit what we got here…"

Vergo kicked up his leg. The boy backed off, but his friend hit Vergo's head with the front of his boots. The boy yelped, covering his messy hair with his soaked hands.

"We're gonna make you pay for that." Vergo sniffed, listening to the horrible threats.

"Do you even know who're trying to help?" the other boy taunted. "A fucking Celestial Dragon." He kicked Vergo in the stomach.

The boy coughed, grabbing his chest and curling inwards.

"You got food on you, brat?"

"Yeah, give us an offering, and we won't kill you."

Vergo shut his eyes, trying to concentrate on keeping the cries at bay. The boy's laughed, and Vergo felt the sole of a worn out boot press against his head.

But then, suddenly, there was a strange rush of pressure. A quick burst of something that Vergo had never sensed before, and the laughter stopped, leaving only the sounds of heavy rainfall, followed by the sound of thunder. The weight on his head ceased, and he heard heavy, wet smacks hit the ground. Vergo opened his eyes, his mouth dropping when he saw that the two suddenly fainted.

"…What?" Vergo didn't believe it. He crawled up on his knees, staring at the two passed out bodies, mouths still open from laughing.

"…My brother..."

Vergo's head snapped up. He crawled over to the boy lying on his back, touching him on the shoulder. "Hey, get up, they fainted." The blond boy nodded his head. Vergo looked over his shoulder, staring at the two bodies. "We need to hurry, before they wake up."

"My brother…"

Vergo helped the boy up, careful to not rouse any sensitive nerves. "Yeah, yeah…we'll meet up with him!" The idea of potentially gaining a third comrade was more than welcoming to Vergo. "Which way did he go?"

"I don't know…"

There was another flash of lightening. Vergo jumped, pushing the boy and causing his sunglasses to fall off of his face. Vergo blushed, and the blond covered his face right when the sound of thunder arrived.

"S-sorry," Vergo stuttered. He grabbed the sunglasses and offered them to the boy. "Uhm…did you not see which way he…"As the boy lowered his hands, Vergo witnessed the answer, taking the form of a blank, faded blue stare. He saw the boy's hands stick out, fingers splayed, just inches away from Vergo's hands. He pushed the sunglasses into the blond's hands, and watched the boy greedily snatch them up, immediately covering his eyes.

The rain continued to pour.

"Did you hear which way he might have gone?" Vergo asked with caution. The boy lowered his head, looking helpless in the rain. It made Vergo blush. "I see—ehrm, I mean…"

"I get it," the boy muttered. "You can leave now…unless you want to beat me up to?"

"Why would I do that?"

"You didn't hear?" The boy crossed his arms. "I'm a Celestial Dragon!"

What did an orphan know about the holy people of Mariejois? Many rumors about their cruelty spread across the North Blue, but to Vergo, the mythical beings were no more a threat than the factory workers who tried whipping him into submission, or the innkeeper who let her children throw rocks at him, or the baker who threatened him with a knife. And as it currently stood, this supposed Celestial Dragon was out in the cold, wearing worn out clothes, and covered in bruises.

And Vergo had spent so long all on his own.

"Well, ok," Vergo muttered, wiping his nose. "But are you gonna make me a slave?"

He watched the boy's lip quiver. "No."

"Are you gonna try killing me right now?"

"No."

"I know this place like the back of my hand," Vergo said, pointing at the palm of his hand. "I know all the good hiding places…maybe we can find your brother before nightfall?"

The blond boy balled his hands into fists. "Why are you helping me? Is it cause I'm blind?"

"Blind?" Vergo dropped his hands. "Right, I forgot." He watched the blond boy make a worrying face at him. Vero shrugged. "No, that's not why. I just…there's power in numbers, you know? And right now, we could both use help." He licked his lips. "I'm tired of eating nasty raisin bread."

"Bread?"

"Yeah," Vergo muttered. He noticed the way the boy blushed. Without offending the blond's pride, Vergo quietly reached into his shirt and pulled out the crushed, moist loaf. He shoved it into the boy's hands, watching the boy's face light up. "Vergo."

"What?"

"My name is Vergo." He saw the boy bring the loaf up to his face, sniffing it. The boy turned, and for a second, Vergo was sure the blond was starting right at him. "Donquixote Doflamingo."

It was official then. Vergo grinned, feeling a rise with the addition of a companion, even if temporary.

He watched Doflamingo take a bite from his bread, sniffing a bit as he struggled a swallow. Although Vergo wasn't at risk getting caught staring, he avoided lingering too long on the boy, afraid that it would only make things worse. He waited for the boy to finish half the loaf, a day's worth for Vergo, before putting it under his arm. "My brother…Roci."

"Right." Vergo reached and grabbed Doflamingo by the hand. There would be no polite offering. Vergo knew better than to treat a fellow friend like some girl. "I have a few places in my mind, Dofla…hmm." The name was a mouthful. "Uhm, mind if I call you Doffy?"

Doflamingo's head lowered to Vergo's clinging hand. "That's what my mom called me."

The use of the past tense made Vergo pale. "Oh…I won't call you–"

"No! No…it's fine." Doflamingo squeezed his hand. "You can call me Doffy."

"You sure?"

"Mhmm." Doflamingo smiled at him. Vergo looked away. "Thanks for the bread." The sincerity caused Vergo to squeeze his toes.

The two boys, drenched in cold rain, scuttled through the alleyways, searching for Doflamingo's lost, little brother. Vergo was feeling more secure now that he had someone to accompany him. "Power in numbers," he told himself, but there was also something incredibly invigorating in possessing a friend, and with the way Doflamingo held his hand, making that one part of him feel warm and welcomed, Vergo no longer cared that he might have just befriended one of the most hated beings in the town, perhaps the world.

"Looks like the weather in getting better," Vergo muttered once the rain finally began to quell. He stared up at the sky, at the giant, passing clouds, remembering how unexpected it was that the two boys suddenly fainted at the flash of lightening. "Maybe we'll see the stars tonight."

Doflamingo shrugged. "I don't know what those are like."

"What do you mean?"

Doflamingo wrinkled his nose. He pointed to his sunglasses. "I can't see, remember?"

Vergo's jaw dropped. "You're blind?"

Doflamingo's hand slipped under his sunglasses, covering his eyes whilst shaking his head in disbelief. "Oh no…"


	3. Chapter 3

After growing bored from rubbing his fingers against the smooth surface of a coin, Doflamingo left his room, entertained by the sounds of his mother spelling out words to his younger brother…

With the guidance of the building's structure, along with a few still, postured slaves, Doflamingo navigated to one of the larger rooms, catching his mother singing out the pronunciations of certain letters.

"F-L-A-M-I…"

He grabbed on to furniture, feeling the textures that would lead him to her and his brother's position. His small hand slid across expensive leather, cool and smooth, then felt one of the over-fluffed cushioned seats. He suddenly he felt a large, soft hand gently hold on to his. The welcoming gesture caused him to turn his head, his face becoming warm with a spreading smile.

"Your turn, Roci."

"Fra-meen-go…"

Another hand slipped under his arm. Doflamingo was hoisted up and placed right next to his mother. The boy turned reserved, kicking his legs up and covering his cheeks until they cooled, while his mother continued to lecture his younger brother.

"Now, what does the sentence spell out together?" his mother asked.

"Uhm…" Doflamingo detected something being crumbled by his brother's hands. Pages? He blinked, realizing that his brother was reading something from a book, and that his mother was attempting to teach him a series of new words. Doflamingo tucked his legs up to his small chest, creating a small pout as he was left without a means to imagine such an act.

"You can do it." His mother's consoling voice did help make this process of the unknown less alien to Doflamingo. He listened as his little brother press his hands against the pages of the book.

"The…fra-min-go….is pink."

"Very good," his mother said. "You're doing a wonderful job." Doflamingo detected his brother wriggling in place, pleased by his accomplishment. Doflamingo felt a hand rest itself on top his head, giving it a gently pat. "Isn't your little brother doing a terrific job with his readings?"

Doflamingo blushed. "Mhmm!"

He heard his brother giggle. "The bird is pwetty."

"Yes, it is a lovely bird," his mother remarked, still providing Doflamingo soothing physical affection. "It was worth naming one of you after."

Doflamingo stared out into the empty backdrop of his own mind. He understood that she was referring to his own name, and though he certainly felt pride and comfort in hearing this statement, his mind struggled to put the compliment together.

He had once possessed a stuffed animal of the same name, and from those memories of squeezing and dragging it around by the neck, had learned that the flamingo was a bird of unusual shape and stature. Unique was the word his father used. Doflamingo liked that.

But the color was difficult to imagine. Words like "pretty," "bright," or "nice looking" hardly added to the image of the bird. They were adjectives that provided an idea, but left no indication of what the color might actually be.

He lifted his head up. "Mom?"

Her hand remained a part of him, slipping down from the head, and finding a new place on his small shoulder. "Yes dear?"

"What is…"pink"?"

His brother answered for him. "It's a color, Doffy."

"I know," Doflamingo huffed. "But what is it?" He grabbed his mother, giving her dress a tug. "I don't know what it is?"

"Pink?"

Doflamingo nodded his head. "Yeah, what is it?"

"Hmmm." He felt his mother recline into her seat, bringing her hand with him. Doflamingo followed her every move, crawling closer to her while listening to his brother proclaim, "I know, I know" repeatedly. After calming Rocinante down, she brought her hand back to Doflamingo, finger pressed against his lips.

"Your lips are pink," she announced. "As is mine, and your brothers."

His mother's lips. Doflamingo brought his hand up to his own, remembering the ticklish sensation of her pecking him on the cheek, the forehead, and on the stomach.

"Let's see," his mother went on. "The blanket you used to drag around when you were so much smaller was a shade of pink. And that stuffed animal. Oh, and my friend Jeanine? Her hair? You love her hair so much…that's also pink."

Doflamingo's mind listed out the sensations each of these things brought. The blanket that kept him warm. The toy that he kissed and tossed across the room for slaves to fetch for him. The long, silky hair that accompanied women, rubbing against his nose and causing his face to crinkle in delight. All were comforting, fun, and brought immediate joy upon contact.

So, this is "pink."

"You like this answer?" his mother asked.

Her voice. Although it could not be touched or controlled, Doflamingo wondered if it also came in a shade of pink. After all, it brought him so many memories of comfort, from scrapped knees to bad dreams, or long days without her presence.

"Yes," Doflamingo answered, smiling up at her. "I like pink."

"Do you?" his mother asked. "That's very good. I'm very fond of it myself."

"Momma, momma!" Rocinante yelled. Doflamingo felt vibrations of his brother's movement being soaked up by the cushions underneath. "Your nails are pink! See, see? They're pink!"

His mother gasped in surprise. "So they are! I never noticed, Roci. You're quite the little detective, aren't you?"

As his brother giggled, Doflamingo concluded that his mother was harboring various shades of the color. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Pink felt good. It was safe, warm, full of comfort…

"What are you thinking about, Doffy?"

The boy turned to his mother, exposing a bashful smile. "You," he admitted.

Her hand once again placed itself on his shoulder. This time Doflamingo grabbed it, taking it in his two, his smaller fingers wrapping around her own.

"What about me?" she asked, her voice hinting that she might already be in possession of the answer.

He held on tight to her hand. "Are there lots of different kinds of pink? Cause I think you have a lot of pink."

"There are many shades of pink," his mother answered. "Some soft and subtle, like your blanket and my fingers…"

So he was right about the color. The boy grinned at this marvelous discovery.

"And then there are the more intense shades," his mother continued, cradling the boy's palm with her finger. "Sometimes pink can be very passionate, vibrant and full of energy."

"Energy?"

"Yes, Doffy."

Doflamingo wasn't too sure about this addition. As far as evidence showed, pink was not a passionate color. But his mother was an adult full of wisdom, and she carried so many characteristics of his interpretation of the color.

"Like what?" he inquired, curious to see how his mother would prove him wrong.

"Well," his mother playfully hummed. "Your brother did say my fingernails were pink, right?"

"I did!" Rocinante cheered. "Uh-huh!"

"And do you know what I like to do with my fingers, more than anything else?" His mother said, pulling her hand away from the boy's grasp. Doflamingo felt her arm suddenly wrap itself around his small frame.

A finger poked his side, causing him to yelp in surprise.

"I like to make my little boys laugh with them!" His mother grabbed him, pulling him up close, one hand attacking his side with ticklish attacks, the other holding him into place, making any attempt at fleeing impossible.

"Ah! Stop!" Doflamingo laughed. His shaking arms pushed against her, doing nothing to stop her from continuing her assault.

Rocinante laughed, clapping his hands and cheering his mother on.

He felt her lips press against his cheek, now made more sensitive with her affectionate onslaught. Doflamingo yelped again, then laughed, and then tried pushing her away again, his body growing weak with delight. His mother held on tight, laughing, taunting his failed attempts.

"Roci, help!" Doflamingo yelled.

"Haha," his brother snickered. "Momma's got you!"

Doflamingo shut his eyes, feeling tears being to form between as he privately cursed his brother for not aiding during his time of need. But his mother stopped tickling him, her hands pulling away from his sensitive body, now having learned its lesson.

"You're next, mister!" his mother announced, followed quickly by the sounds of his brother squeaking and crying out from being grabbed by her. This gave Doflamingo a chance to escape, his hands sensing diminished vibrations as he crawled away from his mother and helpless brother.

Doflamingo caught his breath; fixing his sunglasses back into place as he listened to his brother received the same intense treatment he did. He wiped his cheek, feeling an immediate blush hit him when it dawned how his mother had proven him so wrong. Pink was still comforting, but it was so much more than just delicacy. The feeling in his chest, so warm and filled with loved, could only have been provided through extreme affection.

Were other colors just as complex?

The answer would come in the manifested form of "gold" resting in his room, grown icy with neglect.


	4. Chapter 4

Crocodile assumed the overly fond physical contact was a result of Doflamingo being so young and receptive. He'd been seventeen once, and despite never going out of his way to be touchy to those he found appealing; Crocodile understood where the urges came from.

…

"Excuse me?" he muttered through a smoky exhale, staring up at the blond who held his hand in his shaky two. "You want me to do what?"

"Buy me a drink," the young man demanded through his perfect, cheery grin. Crocodile stared at it and considered the option of bringing a fist to it, ruining that cocky, overconfident smirk.

It was the day after Roger's execution, and the weather had turned foul. Most of the so-called, new age pirates had already left Loguetown, determined to get a head start in rediscovering the lost treasure that was so infamously brought up before the man's death. Never in a hurry to prove himself, and smart enough to know the risks of sailing in dreadful weather, Crocodile decided to make his impression by staying behind and enjoying the town's arising havoc.

With most of his crew spread across the town, Crocodile was left to his own. With the weather turning cold with heavy rain, and not quite ready to spend a night in one of the many crowded inns filled with rookie pirates that took to women and wine a little too easy, he chose to entertain himself at one of the upper end bars. He though the extra expenditure per drink would frighten away most young pirates. Bumping into an oddly dressed teen, the boy's poor reactions to it, resulting in Crocodile's hand being stroked in a delicate, yet forceful manner, proved him very wrong.

"You bumped into me," Crocodile remarked, giving his hand a yank.

The blond held on tight to Crocodile's hand, purposely not catching the hint. "And you were incredibly rude about it." A hand lifted from Crocodile's and rested on his shoulder, fingers pressed against the fabric of his clothes. "And I've personally never been a fan of chivalry."

Crocodile bitterly chuckled at the mention of the word. "Of course _you_ wouldn't be into such things…"

The boy laughed out his response.

"And here I was fearing that social progression wasn't being made," Crocodile sarcastically remarked. He brought his hand up to the intruding one resting on his shoulder. "So I'm to buy you a drink? After voicing my distaste for your unsavory behavior?"

Crocodile caught two laughing men in the corner of his eyes, one of them pointing at the uncomfortable scene, the other cheering the blond on with waves of the hand.

"You got this, captain," the one with the long hair snickered.

The filthy one with snot running down his face gave his companion a nudge. "Don't be too rough with her, Doffy."

Apparently these men were viewing his and this blond's disagreement as some sort of game. Wonderful. Crocodile adored the way the minds of the dimwitted functioned. And of course these two fools would be members of this brat's crew. And, _naturally_ , this idiot dressed in a disgusting plethora of obnoxious colors and eyewear would be their captain.

As if reading his mind, the blond leaned to the side, covering Crocodile's view of the two. The slightly older pirate met his reflection as he stared into two colorful shades, immediately making a distasteful face when he came upon his own features.

"Please ignore my companions," he remarked, lifting his hand away from Crocodile's shoulder. "Trust me, I'm not here to make an example of you…"

Crocodile exhaled smoke, watching the long trail hit the boy's face. "They seem to think you're going to make something of me."

"It's not often a specimen such as yourself reacts so poorly to my charms," the younger pirate replied. His hand moved closer to Crocodile's face. This time Crocodile managed a quick enough jerk, saving himself from any more unwanted contact from the blond.

"Am I to take it that every women you've supposedly flirted with actually bought you a drink?" Crocodile stood up from his seat, wiping the shoulder that the younger pirate rested his hand on; making sure that the blond caught his every move. He grew frustrated when he saw how little it affected the boy.

He watched the blond shrug, looking down at his own outstretched fingers, as though he were ready to grab Crocodile all over again. His laughing companions were making excited faces at one another.

"I've never asked a woman to buy me a drink," the blond admitted, sticking a portion of his tongue out at Crocodile. "But as you said, social progression. We just finished witnessing a new age of piracy unfold. Why not start it off by having someone such as yourself to supply me entertainment. Think of what great changes the two of us could make with you serving me a drink, apologizing for your rude behavior, and us going to sleep with a clean conscience, together?"

"Kuhahaha!" Crocodile pointed a finger at the fool, shaking his head at the boy's earnest remark. People were staring at the two of them. Crocodile didn't care. "As if I'd ever bring myself to serve you a damn thing! How's about this one favor: I suggest you and your lackeys over there to…to…"

Crocodile stuttered the moment he felt his arm stiffen without permission, his finger forced down with the aid of an invisible pull. His legs were glued in place, shoulders frozen into position. He shook his body, trying to break free of whatever was holding him down, feeling his heart race when he caught the sight of the boy's outstretched fingers now aimed at him.

The brat was a devil fruit user, and Crocodile had been foolish enough to be caught within the child's attack range.

His cigar fell from his mouth. "You damn brat…"

"I ask you to apologize for your rude behavior, and you respond to me like that?" The boy sat on top of the table, bringing himself down a few inches. He still had to bend his back to meet with Crocodile. But it was his free hand moving closer to Crocodile's face, the way the tip of his middle finger lightly touched his chin, stroke upwards as the rest of the fingers came along, delicate, but fierce. And the way his evil smirk began to ease, his head lifting as the smirk changed to a smile, confusing a young Crocodile, while leaving an older one reminiscing in a dark cell.

And then Crocodile remembered the way Doflamingo laughed, breaking his hold on him, choosing to have his other hand reach out and touch his face, knowing full well that it might only be for a second, perhaps even less, just so he could get an image of the one who dared to defy him in a public setting.

"No wonder you're so rude," he said, running several long fingers through Crocodile's hair. "If I had a face like that I'd be pretty haughty myself."

It wasn't until after the following events did the words finally reach Crocodile. At that moment he could only focus on the way the boy held on to him, how the hands possessed his face, sliding across his cheek in an almost affectionate matter, while also leaving behind a trail of less than innocent intentions. And Crocodile was never one for touching, especially in this manner, with everyone ogling him and the brat.

With his hold broken, Crocodile reached and grabbed the nearest glass of whatever, swinging his arm up and splashing alcohol right into the boy's face. It was the worst move Crocodile could've made. Him not being caught by the blond, or not evading the onslaught of warming dark ale, was a miracle. Crocodile managing to get away by several steps, while the boy wiped his face, cursing his luck, was another impossible achievement.

But Crocodile was also young, and what he lacked in passion he made up for in being stubborn. He turned himself around and stomped over to the blond, who was now surrounded by his two compatriots. Before either could register, Crocodile pushed them aside and brought his hand down on the young pirate. The boy wasn't the least bit prepared for the attack, and Crocodile wasn't expecting to have laid such a perfect blow. The blond stumbled back, his sunglasses dropping to the ground. Crocodile grabbed hold of his stinging hand, surprised by his own actions.

"You bitch!" Longhair pointed a finger at him before reaching to the floor and grabbing the sunglasses.

"Oh, _how dare you_ ," the snot-nosed one hissed out, holding his captain upright, forbidding him to fall to the floor. "Do you have any idea who you–"

"Fufufu."

Everyone turned and stared at the laughing blond, his hand wiping away stray ale from his face.

"Doffy…" the ugly one began.

"Your sunglasses," the other muttered, stumbling his way back up and offering his captain the colored shades.

The blond straightened himself out, taking the sunglasses from his companion before bringing them up to his shirt to remove any collected grim from the lens. He covered his eyes and smiled at Crocodile, who by now was finally registering the mistake he had made.

"So cold," he said, taking a step forward. "You know, nobody's ever hit me like that."

"Shame." Crocodile struggled to sound calm.

The boy raised his hand up, and before Crocodile could take another step back his legs froze, held down by what felt like a million wires tightly wrapped around him, squeezing him into place.

"I've been beaten, stabbed, had rocks thrown at my goddamn face," the young man went on, raising a hand to fix his obnoxious looking goggles. "But smacked? Fufufu, and these days most people know better than to lay a finger on me."

"Get it over with," Crocodile spat. So many people were watching them now. It was clear the pirate was trying to create a spectacle. Perhaps he was attempting to reenact yesterday's execution. Crocodile didn't know, but he cared that this was getting dragged well beyond his comfort zone.

The boy leaned forward. "What's your name?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard our captain," one of his lackeys said.

"Quiet Diamante," he muttered. He brought his hand out and rested it underneath Crocodile's jaw. "You're something you know what? Foul mouth, nasty attitude, defiant in every way. But you got the looks, and you just don't know when to quit." His raised hand gave a twitch, and Crocodile's neck was forced up, exposed and open for attack. "Do you know what that makes you?"

Crocodile stared up at the wooden ceiling, at the collecting musk of adrenaline, sweat, humidity from the rain, as well as his own growing sense of fear. Just what was it about him that had caused this to happen? How was it a person such as himself could go from collected to damn right stupid with a mere bump of the shoulders?

"An idiot," he finally spoke.

"Fufufu, not quite the word I was looking for," the blond replied. Even with Crocodile staring right up, the blond was tall enough for him to turn his neck down by a few degrees, his shadowy smiling filling in Crocodile's view. Crocodile expected the boy to pull out a knife, or maybe a gun, or for him to summon his men and make quick work of him. Instead, he saw the second hand come into view, and the hold around his legs eased, causing Crocodile's legs to shake, near close to stumbling forward. The hand that once held him down now grabbed on to his left, holding it, as well as the rest of Crocodile into place.

"Donquixote material," the blond cackled, the action causing his sunglasses to slip some.

Crocodile fought to keep his jaw from dropping. He felt fingers run up the side of his jaw, once again finding their way back to his hair, only this time the fingers were catching messy strays and working to put them back into place.

"You just don't know when to stop," the blond pirate said, laughing out the last few words. "You can't be controlled. I love that. I can already tell what a wonderful asset you would make." His laughter caused his sunglasses to drop down the bridge of his nose, exposing to Crocodile a terrible secret. "So, what do you say, darlin?" They were two cloudy pools staring into nothingness.

It was a memory burned into Crocodile's mind. It was an experience he would never dare to forget. It was at that moment Crocodile grew some spite, and made sure that he would never come close to being defeated by that spoiled brat, that ill-dressed fool, that bird-brain of a man who just so happened to have caught him off guard.

"You wanna make me the happiest captain around and hook up with me and the rest of my crew?"

...

And now, sitting in his cell, with nothing but an under-active mind to keep him entertained, Crocodile wondered if the darkness he stared at, at all times, came close to the tragically empty world Doflamingo was in, or if, perhaps, it was something only he was afflicted with?


	5. Chapter 5

Trying to grasp the concept of "red" was difficult. World Nobles hardly ever bled.

Doflamingo remembered running after a girl, a little noble who decided that he was icky and gross, but pestered him with the help of her friends, until he had no choice but to after her. Adults laughed and cheered both him and the girl on; warning her to hurry up before he caught her, and for him to not give up the chase.

It must have been in a courtyard. There was a lot of space, enough for Doflamingo to not require any maneuvering on his part. He concentrated on the sounds of her running, her laughing, ignoring the boys and girls who called out to him and her, the adults who made comments of young love.

At some point he made too big of a step, or too small, Doflamingo couldn't remember. But he fell and landed face first on the floor. People gasped. Some adults got off their slaves and hurried over to the ailing boy who cupped his nose and rubbed his forehead, beckoning for his mother.

A hand took his. "You'll be alright."

He nose leaked warm liquid. It hurt, not the liquid running out and down his lips, but the pain from the hard impact.

"There, there." He was coddled with another hand. Doflamingo remembered hearing women cooing at him, men scolding him for making a scene.

"Boys shouldn't cry."

He felt a soft hand touch his shoulder. His nose flared, and after a few coughs he lifted his head, turning to his mother. "Is he ok?" she asked

"A bit of blood from the nose."

He blinked, letting shameless tears pour down his face as his mother scooped him up into her arms. "You'll be fine, love. Calm down." Her lips pressed against his forehead. He felt her smile, and he calmed down.

"It's just some blood, boy," another male voice said. "Nothing to get all teary-eyed about."

"Oh, leave him be," his mother replied. Her hand wiped his upper lip, meeting up with his tender nose. "We'll have you cleaned up. You'll be fine, Doffy."

He clung to her outfit. "My nose hurts."

"You had a fall," she reassured. "Just a little bloody nose."

Doflamingo remembered the taste. It was similar to the coin, but fresher, warmer, and heavier. Were it not for the pain, the hot sting running up the bridge of his nose, Doflamingo might've enjoyed it.

Or maybe there wasn't enough blood to balance with the pain. Enough of the yummy flavor and Doflamingo might've ignored the ache, choosing instead to focus on the coppery taste pouring into his mouth, combined with his sweet mother's words.

"Red" later punctured his flesh in the form of an arrow. It kicked him in the stomach, over and over. It mocked him, asking him what sort of god ever bled, and spat on him when he cried instead of answering. There had been lots of blood then. Doflamingo couldn't see it any of those times, but he remembered how it escaped from his chest, running down his shirt stained with dirt and oil, sticking and soaking it with all the wet red color.

There was enough pain in those two years to last several lifetimes. He remembered his brother's screams, the empty feeling in his stomach keeping him awake all night long, his mother's weakening breaths. He couldn't forget the night shivers, the bug bites, and the welts on his wrists from ropes, the icy sting of blisters threatening to pop from unforgiving flames thrown at him. Blood oozed everywhere. So much blood that even without the use of a devil's fruit Doflamingo saw it running out the gashes, covering him, spreading out for miles. It was more blood than any child could've produced, maybe even an adult, but it happened.

When the opportunity for revenge came, Doflamingo took it. He held on to the color of pain and never let go. He regained the privileges once lost to him, sat on a newly appointed thrown, and made a personal vow to keep his blood hidden from unworthy eyes.

"Where are you?"

His crew landed on a lovely island during the citizens' annual carnival. Marines were busy merrymaking to care about the several pirate ships docked, one of them donning a familiar flag. Doflamingo remembered being pulled aside by Vergo, the careful description of Crocodile's jolly roger filling his mind with a strange, personal longing that stained vibrant, royal colors.

He heard a low, taunting chuckle. "Kuhahaha."

Doflamingo shivered, still not quite used to the drop of the man's voice. It left a delicate gash in his heart. So many unstoppable changes were occurring without his knowledge. He supposed he was lucky to not have to see them. But supple or muscular, musky or metallic, voice high or low, Doflamingo craved the taste that Crocodile tended to leave in his mouth.

Coppery and sweet.

These meetings were always red.

"Doflamingo?" The voice was terribly close. The moving crowds, music and festivities made it hard to determine the exact point. "What's wrong?" Crocodile's voice beckoned him forward.

Not a drop of blood was shed, and Doflamingo was confident that he'd make it past the next few days without Crocodile breaking skin, aside from what naturally occurred behind closed doors. But the red was still there, tugging at his throat and heart, making it hard to keep the smirk on his face without it turning into something ugly.

"Can't find me?" It was barely audible.

"It's very loud," Doflamingo admitted.

"Raise your hand up and find me then." The order came from the left.

"How unfair," Doflamingo muttered, "you're moving."

"This is a festival," he heard Crocodile whisper into his ear. "One must be quick on their feet if they don't want to miss out."

Doflamingo made for a grab, but his hand caught nothing. People passed by, bumping into him, casting remarks over his odd position. He was standing in the middle of a crowded walkway, people moving up and down, this way and that, trying to reach their next destination.

"Ku-haha…"

No blood but the red was there. Crocodile had a way of turning Doflamingo's powers against him, turning strength into a weakness, and leaving the young man unsure as to whether he ought to summon up strings. Crocodile ordered him to use his powers to find him, and that annoyed Doflamingo. He hated being bossed around. He hated this. He hated that catching Crocodile with the strings would be so easy.

He wanted to catch Crocodile all on his own.

"Move aside!"

Doflamingo was pushed to the wall. He hissed, hand reaching out, strings springing forward in the direction of his assaulter. He made quick work of the man, earning a few cries from frightened civilians. The strings were getting sharper. He felt the vibrations as strings shot through the assailant, easily piercing through flesh and bone.

More people cried out. Doflamingo listened to footsteps gathering around. He dropped his arms, letting his fingers spread out in order to create a web, counting off the growing heads that were surrounding him and the body.

His nose flared at the strong scent of blood. "Shit," he muttered.

"Strange method of drawing me out," he heard Crocodile's voice say right behind him.

Doflamingo turned and grabbed the man by his hand, yanking him forward.

"Well," Doflamingo growled, "it certainly worked, didn't it?"

"Hmmph." He could practically hear the conceited grin grow on Crocodile's face. "I suppose you've made a point."

The voice made concentrating hard. Doflamingo wanted to touch the man's face, get a feel of the familiar facial structure, the few things that no devil's fruit could possibly change. He wanted the hair between his fingers, the soft and thin lips against his. He wanted to feel those delicate eyebrows and taste that mouth flavored with tobacco.

"Somebody call an officer!"

"Now look," Crocodile muttered. "You've gone and attracted the local authorities." Doflamingo's nose flared again at the heavy scent of smoke not quite covering the stench of death.

Doflamingo groaned. "Well, you started it."

"And I'll finish it," Crocodile stated, swatting Doflamingo's left hand from his right. "Lord knows I've better things to do than spend a night with you in a jail cell."

"I was thinking the same thing."

"Don't even begin to think about it," Crocodile warned. Doflamingo felt a strange shift occur in the air. He stuck the tip of his tongue out, wondering when the atmosphere had suddenly gone dry.

"That one's raising his hand up!"

"Don't you move, p-pirate!"

Remembering the previous image cast in his mind, Doflamingo decided to take a step back. There was enough faith in Crocodile to remove the threat of an attack, but Doflamingo was required to be several steps ahead in order to maneuver an escape. That meant all ten fingers out, webbing out the next several meters.

At the sound of Crocodile's haunting laugh, Doflamingo cast out his strings. His eyes went wide when he felt half bounce off the ground, the other half sinking into something thick. In the process of taking another step back, Doflamingo stumbled to gather his footing, the rising sound of stone crumbling underneath causing him to panic.

Doflamingo didn't like the unknown. He snapped at Crocodile. "What are you–?"

A foot kicked him in the chest. "Move out of the way!"

Doflamingo almost grabbed the leg that attacked him, but guns were fired, and at that moment all he could do was trust that Crocodile knew what he was doing (how was he supposed to dodge the bullets? How was he even standing with all this sand?) and let the rough kick send him back. There was pain, but it was nothing compared to coming into contact with the rising mounds of sand. Where did it come from? Doflamingo had no time to think as he listened to people running and screaming, tripping over themselves under the collapsing ground. He was sinking deeper into the sand pit. How many floors were disintegrating underneath him?

He clenched a handful of sand, feeling it run between the fingers, pour and splash on his stomach. "Crocodile…"

More guns were going off. Doflamingo could hear it, but the sand surrounding him made it hard to see if bullets were coming close to hitting him. Strings could clutch on gravel, but not on the collective form. Sand was just as bad as water/

People continued to yell and flee the scene, until all there was left for Doflamingo to listen to was the sound of Crocodile's cruel laughter. Doflamingo kicked up sand as he struggled to gather some footing. He blinked and felt a sharp sting collect in his eyes.

Sand was worse than water.

He slipped another several inches, his blindness catching up with him as his splayed fingers saw nothing but tons of gravel. His sneer couldn't stretch any farther, and his eyes were beginning to water with pain from the intruding sand, the ache in his chest, fear of the unknown, and wonderment over Crocodile's newly acquired power.

"Get up," Crocodile ordered.

"I'd love to," Doflamingo sarcastically replied. He raised his arms up from the mounds of sand, only to have his hands gesture right back.

"Pathetic," Crocodile muttered. Doflamingo extended his left hand out, taking Crocodile's right. He was pulled up, too rough for his liking, and with his chest still smarting from Crocodile's kick, the man made a point to let out an exaggerated grunt.

"Was the kick necessary?" he asked, grabbing Crocodile's arm and feeling up the appendage. The quality of fabric was improving with every rendezvous. He knew Crocodile's name was appearing on the papers more frequently, but feeling the silk wrapped around the neck made it all too real.

"You've dealt with worse," Crocodile retorted. His hand pressed against Doflamingo's chest, testing the area he attacked. Doflamingo noticed the additional ring adorning the index finger. That made three now. "There," Crocodile continued, letting his hand drop. "No blood or anything. I swear you're only making a scene because you got upset and lost control."

Doflamingo ran a hand through his hair, wincing as sand fell upon his forehead, coming close to his irritated eyes. "Is that so?"

"You should have used your powers when I told you to."

Crocodile's remark brought Doflamingo close to bringing his hand down and using it against the man. Several months of separation, and all Doflamingo really wanted to know was when Crocodile got a hold of these fancy powers. He wanted to see Crocodile's face, do his best to memorize the voice as he cupped the jaw, and enjoy the muscular frame that wasn't covered in so many layers of clothes. "Red" was that dreadful feeling that might not get a chance to, not when officers were calling out for them. It was pain without the blood, stinging his heart over and over, even after Crocodile grabbed him, directing him to make a run for it.

Doflamingo could swear that he would keep the blood from staining his dress, but he couldn't stop the internal bleeding that always occurred when he was around this blasted man.

"Hurry up!"

Doflamingo's skin was dry from all that nasty sand covering him, but he was drenched in a thick coating of red.

"Red" was a real pain in the ass


	6. Chapter 6

Always one to ignore Jora's advice, Doflamingo brought a finger to his mouth and sucked on the paper cut he earned while cleaning his room.

It wasn't often that Doflamingo handled several sheet of paper. It was Vergo's job to handle the numbers, but thanks to a recent storm that occurred while he and the executives were out partying (and of course he'd been dumb enough to leave the window open), Doflamingo was left to pick up the mess.

Asking for help when it wasn't absolutely necessary was not an option. Doflamingo was past the age of being guided around, and he mastered his powers to the point where the slightest motion of a finger resulted in a web that created a near perfect image of his surroundings. He no longer maneuvered, but paraded across islands, towns, and the like without constant guidance from a crewmate. He danced around enemies and conquered rivals ships.

The paper cut was an offensive blow to his naturally high esteem.

"Hmm…" Doflamingo's first intention was to crumble the paper and toss it. He sucked on the cut, his tongue rubbing against the wound, ultimately doing more harm than good. No blood, but certainly enough pain to warrant a few swears. What was it about the tiny cut that made it impossible to ignore? Diamante tripped him while drunk, Vergo fought him over a girl once, but the pain he endured from bloody noses and bruised muscles didn't quite compare to the nasty sting coming from the tip of his finger.

"Young Master."

Doflamingo removed the ailing finger from his mouth, scooped up the remaining sheets and stood up from the floor. "What is it, Pink?" he muttered, placing the papers on the desk.

"Sir, I heard about the mess."

Doflamingo adjusted his sunglasses. "What about it?"

"Seeing how busy today's schedule is; I figured you might be in need assistance?"

Senor Pink was too polite. It was like this with new members, even ones that'd been sat down and given a quick talk with the executives. Vergo and Trebol made a big deal of it, but Doflamingo found it mildly annoying at best. Really, the fact that his crewmembers went out of their way to appear respectful while also attempting to be helpful with minuscule tasks was almost endearing.

However, no matter how thoughtful or kind the intentions may be, it was still an annoyance that needed to be dealt with.

"Fufufu."

"Sir?"

He listened to the sound of wooden flooring creak: Senor Pink had shifted his weight to the right side of his body.

"Assistance," Doflamingo muttered. "You came at the right time. Yes, I could use some help with a few things."

"Of course." Doflamingo listened to the sound of the man's footsteps as he made his way further into the room, steps growing louder, heavier, more confident. "Would you like me to start with some of these files?"

"Actually," Doflamingo began, leaning against the desk, "I need you to go with Jora and Diamante."

"Excuse me?"

Doflamingo didn't need to use his powers to detect yet another shift. This time Senor Pink was placing the weight on his heels, the sound of him being taken aback resulting in a louder, but shorter whine from the old flooring.

"I've asked them to ensure that the upgrades on our ship be applied just the way I ordered them," Doflamingo replied. "But Jora tends to go overboard with designs and decor, and Diamante can be rather lax with the intimate details."

"I see" Senor Pink replied. "I'm not entirely sure how this applies to helping you with the room?"

"The room?" Doflamingo asked, feigning confusion. "Why, I don't need help with the room. Whatever made you think that? Last night?" He shook his head. "I hold my liquor rather well. I'm not the least bit hung-over. Cleaning up won't be a problem. I need you to make sure those two don't mess up with the ship's remodeling!"

"Really?"

"Yes," Doflamingo said. He lifted himself of from the desk and approached Senor Pink, resting an arm over the man's shoulder and guiding him to the door. "Somewhere in Diamante's room is the blueprint for the upgrades. Take a good look so that nothing weird happens during the process. You've got about an two hours before we have the ship sent over to the docks to be looked at.

He felt Senor Pink turn his head. The man was staring at him, unsure of how to approach the topic of the messy room. Doflamingo retained his smile, not letting awkwardness get in the way of making his point.

"Make sure Jora doesn't add anything on," he said. His hand squeezed the padded shoulder of Senor Pink's suit. "I know Diamante will get distracted, so keep an eye out on the workers. Vergo and I put a lot of effort into designs, and I'd hate to find out they skimped on details." He heard Senor Pink's breathing begin to ease. "Do you think you could keep an eye on them?" he asked. "I would myself, but…"

It was best to establish his independence without being vocal about it. Humor was a wonderful means of breaking the ice. Doflamingo pointed his cut finger up to his face, producing an exaggerated pout.

"Yes, I understand," Senor Pink answered. "I'll be sure to check with executive Diamante right away."

"You do that." Doflamingo waved a hand in the general direction of Pink's voice.

"Is there anything else–?"

More questions?

"Hmmm," Doflamingo stressed out a long, loud hum. "Nah, not that I can think of. Oh!" He raised his hand out, spreading his fingers and catching Senor Pink's form in his mind. The strings rested for less than a second, and the contact was delicate enough for the man to not notice, but Doflamingo had honed his skill to take advantage of each millisecond the strings were out, and he "saw" that the shoulders were lowered, and the legs were slightly parted.

Senor Pink's body was relaxed. The face was impossible to tell without coming off as rude. And Doflamingo preferred to use his hands when it came to mates. He guessed the additional question was an act of politeness.

"Go out and get some sweet breads," he ordered. "For later, after we've finished with everything else. I think that'd be nice to have, especially after a long night. I know Vergo loves bready snacks."

"Will do."

Doflamingo waited for Senor Pink to leave, the sound of the man's eager footsteps removing any remaining strain the blond possessed, now more confident that he could rely on Pink to not offer a helping hand over trivial matters. He brought the finger back to his mouth before squatting down, bringing his other hand out and using his powers to figure out where the next collection of books or files lay.

He appreciated each and every gesture given to him by new crewmembers, but what Doflamingo really liked was when they were comfortable enough to walk right up to him and rightfully call him an asshole right in front everyone else. It was at that moment he knew he'd founded a relationship that was more than the conventional leader-subordinate roles some were accustomed to.

After Vergo busted his lip, and the pretty girl left the scene with another man, the two were left to lick each others wounds, and in less than five minutes after invoking haki and using it on each other, Doflamingo and Vergo were back to drinking, laughing and complaining over the fickleness of women. It was that sort of shift in behavior that Doflamingo valued. It wasn't professional, and some might've considered it unusual, especially those wannabe new-age pirate captains who viewed piracy as some sort of profession, but Doflamingo couldn't care less.

His fingers reached out, strings coming into contact with more sheets of scattered paper. Doflamingo couldn't wait for that awkwardness to transition out of Senor Pink, and for him to rudely demand that he learn to close the damn window before spending an entire night partying.

He gave a slight tug, pulling a few pages clipped together closer to his grasp. He reached out and grabbed the sheets, only to have to pull away when he felt a sharp sting burst across the middle of his ring finger. It was another paper cut.

"Seriously?" He hissed, raising his hand up and giving it a shake. "You've got to be fucking…"

Doflamingo heaved, standing back up while struggling to decide which finger deserved to be nursed more. He hurried over to the entrance of his room, still waving the injured hand, and yelled: "Vergo! Get your ass over here and help me clean this mess up!"


	7. Chapter 7

Doflamingo reclined into his seat, hands motioning away from his companion's face. "You're getting old."

After taking Dressrosa, Doflamingo made a point to hand each of his elite officers a room of their own. Vergo was busy earning another promotion, but Doflamingo saved him a spot on the west side, overlooking the colosseum. Diamante stressed that the view was to die for, and Monet noted the location would be close to the Young Master's room. With Vergo's visits being so rare and quick, a room Doflamingo could easily locate and barge into was important.

Vergo chuckled, placing sunglasses over his eyes. "Really? Are you quite sure?"

"Yes," Doflamingo answered. "I can feel the wrinkles starting to form under your eyes."

The sounds of the colosseum could be heard from Vergo's patio. From all the way up the plateau, the sounds of cheering citizens and fighting prisoners were like gentle breezes, barely noticed by either man. Even Doflamingo's delicate sense of sound couldn't pick up the screams of defeated men and women, some destined to face the factory underneath.

"Hmmm." Vergo grabbed a cookie from the table situated between the two of them. After a few bites, he added: "If that's the case, then you're old too."

Doflamingo's hand hovered over the glass of sweet tea. "Why's that?

"We're the same age, Doffy."

He licked the front row of his teeth, preparing himself for a grin to accompany his haughty reply. "I'm looking sharper than ever." He brought the glass to his lips, nursing on the icy brew saturated with citrus zest and nectar. "I'm aging rather well, if I do say so myself."

Vergo wiped some of the many stray crumbs outlining his jaw. "Your hairline's been receding for a while now."

Doflamingo swallowed quicker than intended. "You're one to talk," he remarked, sounding more snide than usual. He listened to Vergo chuckle, stopping only to treat himself to another biscuit or tart. "I know you didn't start shaving your head because you grew tired of that wonderful cut of yours," he remarked.

"If I recall correctly, you're the one who helped supply that cut."

"Oh good, your memory is still intact." Doflamingo snatched a cookie from the table and stuffed it into his mouth, savoring Vergo's displeased grunt. "I was afraid you might've developed some dementia since your last visit."

"I tried forgetting," Vergo said with an exaggerated sigh. Doflamingo was sure the man had turned his head just so he could face him and force all that air out. "But there's no repressing the thirty years of bullshit you've made me endure."

"Has it really been that long?"

Vergo took a loud sip of his drink. "Hmm?"

"Thirty years?" Doflamingo asked, turning to Vergo.

"Just about." Vergo faced his friend, no longer interested in the distant sight of prisoners being sent to their doom. "We'll be forty this year now."

"Yeesh," Doflamingo muttered.

"Now who's the one with the memory problem?"

"Vergo, look in my direction." Doflamingo listened to the man shift in his seat. "You good?"

"Yes."

"Wonderful," Doflamingo said. He moved his glass to his other hand, raising his left to Vergo, curling down all fingers expect for his middle.

"Love you too," Vergo muttered. He picked up his drink and made another loud slurp.

The two sat comfortably on their seats, Doflamingo bringing his hand down and gently patting his leg to the sounds of the screams and yells coming down from the colosseum, and Vergo closing his eyes, letting the setting sun tan and calm him after spending several months at the marine base.

"At least I still have my looks."

"Do you?" Vergo asked. "Take off those sunglasses and I'll be the judge of that."

Doflamingo placed his shades down on the table. A small wind passed through, and he instinctively inhaled, taking in the usual smells of Dressrosa. A lively city, filled with so much life and prosperity. It was city containing so many shades of white.

He felt Vergo's hand rest against his jawline. An unnecessary act. To a stranger, this level of intimacy might've been considered inappropriate, even between two long time friends. Knowing Vergo would be returning back to G-5 in a few days, and that there would be another several months, maybe even a year before they would be able to relax and hang out as friends again, Doflamingo welcomed the touch.

"How do I look?" he asked.

He heard a gentle sigh escape Vergo's lips. Oh boy.

"Like shit," the man whispered, almost to the point of seduction. Vergo rapidly backed away from Doflamingo, unleashing his haki to protect him from a mild ambush of wiry strings, until Doflamingo grew tired of attacking him.

"You're so full of it!" Doflamingo complained, waving his tired hand at the man. "Now I know why I sent you away to play marine all those years ago."

"And I stayed, all those years," Vergo added, pointing his finger and roughly waving it in front of Doflamingo.

The blond felt the weak airwaves and rolled his eyes.

Vergo smacked his lips, enjoying Doflamingo's lack of a proper comeback, combined with the delectable treats and cheers echoing up the castle.

"You did stay, all those years," Doflamingo remarked, taking his drink. "You're a good friend."

"Not just a loyal marine?"

Doflamingo shrugged. "I've plenty of those."

He let his fingers smash the droplets collecting on his glass. The index rose as he caught Vergo mutter something, rubbing his face of crumbs while the sounds from the city beneath them began to decrease. People were probably making their way home now.

He placed his glass on the table and stood up from his seat. "Let's go."

Vergo swallowed a half-eaten tart. "Where?"

"We got a city filled with bars, clubs, restaurants and fancy brothels," Doflamingo answered. He offered his hand to Vergo. "Let's make the most of the next two days you got and have ourselves a grand ol' time." He leaned forward, feeling the faint exhale of Vergo's breath. "Before we get too old."

A hand covered in cold condensation and sweet crumbs grabbed his. Doflamingo hoisted his friend up, immediately guiding him to the edge of the patio.

"Are there any clouds out?" he asked.

"Several above the city, " Vergo noted. "There's one straight ahead, at twelve-o-clock. You should be able to reach it."

"Great." Doflamingo stretched his fingers out to the sky, waiting seconds before coming into contact with tiny droplets of water. Too small to affect his devil fruit abilities, but large enough for him to cling to, to hoist him and Vergo up and use as a means of transportation.

And nobody would say a damn thing about a vice admiral keeping appearances with the country's king, even if it meant wandering around the red light district, pointing a finger and laughing at all the darling girls being guided around by rag dolls, walking tops, and upright stuffed animals. Doflamingo listened on, hearing his friend's mad description of the city's strange ways, of the lousy lifestyle held at G-5, while he leaned on the counter, munching on fries and trying not to snicker over how much of a child Vergo could get when presented with a few drinks and a cheeseburger.


	8. Chapter 8

Doflamingo oversaw Law's education. When he wasn't busy training, learning a combination of sword fighting and hand-to-hand combative skills, Law was spending at least two hours a day in his captain's room. Lesson's in history and piracy were usually taught in private, while others, usually involving a book or the written word, included the company of one of the officers, save Corazon.

Law was an eager student and a quick learner. Several months into his studies, and he required less help to figure out problems. Some days, like today, consisted of Law taking notes without any outside interaction, only speaking up to ask his captain general questions about the subject.

Doflamingo was confident that he could prime Law to be a valuable member of the Donquixote family and crew. With less than two years before his supposed "death day," there was plenty of time to locate a means of extending Law's life, even if by a few years. Doflamingo knew there were many treasures across the globe; the Grand Line was well known for harboring all sorts of mysteries. Assuming a greedy World Noble didn't get their hands on it first, Law would be safely accounted for.

"Doffy?"

Doflamingo placed his glass of wine on top of a crate, between his spread legs. "What is it, Law?"

"Can you read?" The question was immediate and lacked any indication of fear or shame. Doflamingo listened, waiting to catch the slightest sound of the boy shuffling in his seat, but was pleased with the welcome of silence.

"No," he replied, shifting his head in the direction of the desk where Law sat. "I was born blind, remember?"

"There are forms of literature written in braille." This time Doflamingo caught something. The child was flipping through the pages of his book, stopping, possibly locating his newly discovered evidence. "It's been around for a while now," Law added.

What could he possibly say? Mariejois lacked any form of braille or supplemental writing for him to learn. It was an invention by the common people, and while most Nobles had no problem reaping the benefits of the average man, Doflamingo couldn't see them accepting a form of literature that was to aid what many considered a physical handicap. Not once during his time spent in Mariejois was he told he needed to learn anything differently than others (though actions by some adults would suggest otherwise). After all, he was a god. And everything after was him working to regain his godly title. He couldn't be bothered to find a book on braille, learn it, and then waste his time scouring stores in hopes of finding a book that was printed in it.

"I think it's clear," he calmly began, "by the lack of literature on my person, that I've no braille texts." Avoiding his wine glass, he stood up from his seat and sauntered over to the shelves that carried less than a a dozen books on them. Doflamingo stopped in front of it, wrinkling his nose as a small, crooked smile grew on his face. "Not that I've suffered from a lack of literary influences," he added, reaching out and touching the spine of one of the books.

"They read to you?" Law asked.

Without turning his head, Doflamingo provided him a quick, short nod. "Once in a while."

"I never see anyone read to you, other than Trebol and the paper," Law muttered.

He was about to reply, but Doflamingo realized there was truth to Law's remark. Aside from crew-related duties, Doflamingo hadn't taken the time to relax and listen to someone read him a story. He thought more on the issue, trying to think of the last time he did, and the first name that came to mind was Vergo, about a week before his departure. It wasn't even a decent story, just some silly tale Vergo picked up and chose to read aloud to him. After that he left, and Doflamingo was busy reassigning teams to balance his brother's clumsiness, and then the children came along, and now…

Doflamingo pulled his hand away from the books. "Things have been hectic." He turned around and faced Law. "There just isn't enough time for fiction."

"Huh," Law said. He listened to another page being turned. Good, Law was paying attention to his studies, even with this topic going on. "Do you miss it?"

It didn't sound like a kind offering. Doflamingo doubted Law was hinting at possibly picking something up and reading it to him, which was fine by him. The boy wanted to spend his time learning how to ruin lives, and Doflamingo respected the hell out of that dream. It was a realistic goal. And even Law wanted to, it wasn't like they had anything lying around.

But Law was quiet, waiting for a response, or biding his time till his two hours were up.

"It's not something I worry too much about," he answered.

"Oh," was all Law managed to say before going silent again. The pages were flipped again, back to the page he'd left off at. Doflamingo took his seat, picking up his glass and went back to sipping, silent unless Law required any assistance.

A few minutes went by and he heard Law move in his seat again. Doflamingo crossed one leg over the other, pretending to not notice and let his mind wander again, now eager to have the lesson come to an end so that he could go out and enjoy the warm weather outside on the deck.

He closed his eyes, the void of scenery not changing, but the feeling inside of him became more apparent.

Listening to his mother teach his little brother to read was something that had always made him feel a little isolated. Hearing about Crocodile's promotion to Shichibukai through his executives, none of which cared a fraction of the amount he did, wasn't nearly as enjoyable as it could have been if he read it himself. And with Vergo gone, he was without his favorite narrator to overly enunciate every other word.

Doflamingo was first to leave his room when the hours were up. He swung the door wide enough to allow Law to run off after him, racing past and eager to get into trouble with his fellow crewmates. He thought even more about the matter of books and wondered if Law had a favorite genre. Most boys liked adventure. He was living one now, but Doflamingo recalled being a huge fan of adventures and fantasies.

He removed his sunglasses, tucked them away at the collar and raised his head up, letting the fresh air and sunlight hit his face and ease his frustrations. The sounds of Jora exaggerating over the detail of her latest work of art, while Gladius screamed at Baby 5 for chasing after the boys refreshed him after spending two hours in that cramped room.

A quick flick of the fingers, and Doflamingo located the mast. He walked over, avoiding Dellinger's grabbing hands, Pica's large frame chasing after him, and rested against mast, first letting his back lean against it, until he began to sink. Now sitting, he crossed his legs and listened to the sounds of his crew all around him, loud and carefree.

The wind blew a light breeze and he flared his nose, catching the bitter smell of singed feathers.

Doflamingo blinked a few times before looking over, finding nothing, at least not while he kept his hands down, but knowing somewhere, not too far, was the new Corazon. His nose flared again, and Doflamingo hadn't the slightest idea if he was even looking remotely close to where Corazon might be, but the more he stared out, thinking about stories and the like, the lonelier he felt.

The one person in the world who had a story to offer, who understood him the most, through history and blood, was now a mute.


	9. Chapter 9

What was it about attraction that left his powers absolutely useless?

Doflamingo understood he was just a man (for now), and with that came desires and needs. While his strings could attach to just about anything and create a simplistic image of his surroundings, human bodies included, ultimately there was something missing. He didn't mind using his strings on another person, especially if he wanted to get an idea of what he was up against, but when it came to any form of intimacy, there was an instinctual urge to get up and close.

With the sound of soft laughter shared between two girls was a need to reach out and feel their lips from which the pleasant sound originated. He needed to run his hands through their hair, feel their shoulders and hips, how soft the skin was, and warm, and press his fingers deeper into the flesh, until he knew he was getting himself tangled in a girl.

According to Vergo and Pica the feelings were mutual, but with their casual admittance came bitterness that they were able to ease their desires with hidden stares. They could look potential partners in the eyes and know right away what was up. With a stare a simple connection could be made. Desires could also be expressed with playful mannerisms that Doflamingo could not read, not unless he had his powers active and already aimed at the target. Something as subtle as a small smile, nervous blinking or hair playing wasn't something he could witness with sound or smell.

It was bad enough he was a boy who didn't know why girls did _these_ things, he had to figure out how to approach them without letting them in on his little secret, at least not while he was trying to be taken seriously. Because he needed them to take him seriously. Diamante mentioned exploiting his blindness to "get some" from an overly sensitive girl would work just fine, but Doflamingo refused to cast his pride aside for a quickie, and continued to fantasize in private.

Men were another matter. While coming into contact with one might not result in immediate rejection, trying to figure out whether they shared the similar tastes regarding the same sex was impossible without being upfront. He could rest a hand on a man's shoulder and not risk nasty remarks, but most interactions ended with one of the executives chasing them away. That was all they could do, neither Diamante nor Trebol had any advice on how to approach a guy, let along how to deal with their disgust once Doflamingo confessed his intentions.

Years later Doflamingo would learn that his struggles weren't too different from the average man, though by then he'd have gathered enough taste from both sexes for him to nearly repress all cringe-worthy memories associated with adolescence. Despite this, the urge to connect on a physical level never ceased to bother him. Exploiting men and women with his strings could not garner the pleasure he received from being allowed to touch and discover their appearance with his hands.

"Really, it's one of the few things I find less than satisfactory about myself," Doflamingo said aloud. But not too loud, as Crocodile's slow breathing suggested anything beyond hushed talk might result in getting kicked out of the bedroom.

Crocodile probably knew better than anybody else the extent of his obsession to touch, grab, and rub. Most of their rendezvous, even those that ended without any sex, carried complaints from Crocodile as he was molested with curious hands. Doflamingo joked that Crocodile had asked for it, what with him undergoing so many changes in the years they've known one another, but Doflamingo surmised that his fixation to assault and prod his companion wouldn't decrease if his hand remained.

"What do you think it means?" he asked aloud while nudging Crocodile to stay awake with his elbow.

The man grunted, and Doflamingo chuckled when he heard the sheets being pulled over, followed by Crocodile growling in annoyance.

"We're animals," Crocodile answered tiredly, and with a thick layer of cynicism added to his voice. "You more than anyone else I've met."

Doflamingo turned on his side and faced Crocodile. "I'll be taking that as a compliment."

"You would."

He didn't need to free his hands from the covers to know Crocodile was making some kind of face directed at him. The tone was more than enough to almost set him into a fit of laughter. "I know deep down all the cruel things you say to me are just your way of saying you care," he remarked, pushing himself closer to Crocodile.

"Hmmph."

Doflamingo blinked, catching warm air settling across his face when Crocodile scoffed at his remark. He waited for Crocodile to move, to maybe turn his back to him and go about ignoring him. Doflamingo waited, and he heard Crocodile yawn.

"But you know," he listened to Crocodile mutter, "we're all just competing for the best. You're obsession with grabbing and touching without permission is just the animal trying to select a decent mate." The covers were lifted up, and now Doflamingo was sure Crocodile was attempting to fall asleep.

"A shame I never developed another tactic," Doflamingo remarked, turning on his back.

With touching there was a level of intimacy that he wished he could avoid. It felt almost juvenile to rely on such personal means in order to satisfy a curiosity. But he couldn't look Crocodile in the eye. Couldn't see the smile, the dirty grin, lips slight parted combined with that desperate look that he was lucky enough to hear in Crocodile's voice, if the weather permitted it. He couldn't see Crocodile eyeing him like prey, or the look of annoyance when he attempted to the same, just the laughter that accompanied Crocodile when he failed. Doflamingo was stuck rubbing his face against Crocodile's, earning pushes and groans and head turning away in order to avoid a level of intimacy he was never accustomed to. Crocodile backing away from too much hair playing, from lips constantly trying to get a feel or taste, or hands wrapping around, desperate to know if the body it held had undergone any change in the last five minutes.

"Oh well," he heard Crocodile sigh lightly into his sheets.

Doflamingo guessed taking over a country left Crocodile exhausted. He knew his last comment left him open for half a dozen sarcastic remarks.

He stretched his legs; accidentally rubbing against Crocodile's and feeling them retract away from his. A few seconds passed and the legs returned, this time situating closer to Doflamingo's.

As he made himself comfortable, now ready to turn in for the night, he felt Crocodile mutter something into the bedcovers. It was hardly audible, which was saying a lot considering Doflamingo had an excellent sense of sound.

"What?" he asked.

"It's not the worst," Crocodile calmly admitted.

Doflamingo smirked, but forbade himself from letting out another chuckle. The backhanded compliment flattered him so much that he wanted nothing more than for Crocodile to rest without too much disturbance from him.

Just then, he felt Crocodile move a bit, not quite distancing himself, but creating some space in order to properly cocoon himself and collect enough warmth to combat the cold desert nights. But the movement was too sluggish to be natural, and Doflamingo took the hint and dove in, latching himself around the relaxed form, getting reacquainted without dealing with any sort of struggle from the owner.

"How lucky of me," Doflamingo whispered into Crocodile's ear, "I've been bestowed a decent mate." He purposely let his lips rub against Crocodile's earlobe, testing the limits of his kindness, and earned a warning in the form of another sigh.

"Keep talking and I'll bestow you another handicap."

"Oh dear." Doflamingo pressed his face into the nook of Crocodile's shoulder, letting a smirk form slow enough for Crocodile to detect. His hand slid up Crocodile's chest. He felt a stump swat it and try to keep it away from its intended goal. Doflamingo's other hand dominated it, and he continued on with his other, not stopping until it reached the bottom of Crocodile's lip. "Why on earth would you say such a cruel thing?"

Just as his hand was about to rest on top of Crocodile's mouth, Doflamingo felt him make a move by pulling his lips in and taking away any chance of receiving an answer without relying on the use of his strings.


	10. Chapter 10

The air was drenched in the smells of salt, grease, and savory meats. Doflamingo, Diamante, Trebol, Pica and Vergo sat quietly at their table, dividing their attention evenly between their breakfast and the frightened tailor held at gunpoint by Jora and Lao G.

"Your suits," the man stuttered to say, eyes constantly darting to the side where Lao G sat on a stool, hoisting a large rifle pointed directly at him, "well, I worked rather hard on to meet each of your demands, and I'm certainly hoping…"

"Yeah, yeah," Doflamingo interrupted, waving a fork carrying a strawberry dripping in balsamic vinegar. "Get to the point, we got things to do, don't we boys?"

This was an important meeting, but after a long night and hardly any rest all Doflamingo wanted to do was start his day with something cool and refreshing, accompanied with silence and serenity. A clean start to a night plagued with horrific memories.

Vergo nodded before lifting his cup already containing the dried stains of heavy creamed coffee. Pica lightly poked the yoke of his egg, letting the contents spill over on to the his toast while Trebol teased Diamante, letting his fork loaded with sausage bits get dangerously near the yogurt.

"Now Doffy," Jora said. "This man worked very, very hard on your suits now. Let him feel some pride in his work. Let's not forget he's doing this for free now." Oh, she sounded a little disappointed. That was no good. Doflamingo stuffed his mouth with his fruit in order to look distracted. He heard Vergo snicker next to him, so he gave a quick shove and heard something splash all over followed by Vergo swearing and Diamante laughing.

"Right," he said. He placed his fork down and cupped his hands together, his elbows leaning and spread on the table. He was careful and listened to the sounds of the man's heavy exhales, the shoes rubbing nervously against the fabric carpet, and kept his face directed at the source. "Go on then," he coaxed, "show me the fruits of your labor."

In order to start a business, you had to begin at the bottom. There were all those rookie pirates hoping to make a name for themselves, eager to set off without any idea of where to start. Doflamingo knew better. He had plans, and he knew if he wanted to make any sort of impression in the underworld, he would have to be professional about it.

But pretending to pay attention was a chore. Unlike Trebol and the others, who had a particular theme in mind when they had their measurements taken, Doflamingo chose a rather modest design. Not even that, he brought Pica aside and asked him to pick something simple and "serious looking" for him. The tailor was using elaborate diction to make it sound like he spent hours on something fabulous but Doflamingo knew better. It was a black suit.

A few times he closed his eyes and let his mind wander. He was tired, and without food to distract him, it was hard keeping awake. He felt Vergo lightly tap his shoe with his own, bringing him out of his daze. After a few blinks and another poke, this time the tip of the shoe against his leg, and Doflamingo was back to being semi aware of his surroundings. He concentrated on his officer's poor eating habits, letting loud slurps and munching keep him entertained until the man finally moved on to Pica.

He went back to eating his meal, though by now he less in of a mood to eat. He hardly got any sleep last night, and waking up from that nightmare left him so filled up with adrenaline that he spent the rest of the morning busying himself with other things. The food was good, but he lacked the drive to finish it.

"Doffy," Trebol whispered, lighting jabbing his captain with the end of his spoon, "is something wrong with your food?"

Now Trebol realized there was something off. Doflamingo lowered his head, nose flaring and picking up the sweet smell of his breakfast underneath. There was nothing wrong with it. It was a nice treat.

"Too much balsamic and peppers," he lied. "I can't eat this."

Trebol muttered a few words, and Doflamingo felt the soft vibrations at the table as his officer lifted an arm, gesturing to either Jora or Lao G a silent message that he couldn't detect without the use of his powers. The meeting continued with the frightened tailor giving off detailed descriptions of the hard work he put onto their outfits, showing off suits that Doflamingo might be able to appreciate later.

The meeting ended shortly after, with Jora and Lao G congratulating the tailor for being so polite and compliant before taking their officers and captain's new suits to the ship. Vergo took Doflamingo by the hand and said something about distracting themselves for a while, leaving Trebol and the others in the hotel meeting room. Doflamingo didn't have to think too hard about what those three would do once he and Vergo were at a safe enough distance.

"Maybe we should get donuts?" Vergo suggested as the two of them walked down a street in the middle of the shopping district.

The air already carried the taste of heat and ash in it. Doflamingo brought a hand to cover his mouth as he yawned, not the least bit bothered by the warm smells of cinder.

"Eh, I'm not really hungry right now," he confessed. "I'm more tired than anything else."

"Not enough sleep last night?"

Doflamingo was careful with answer. "I was busy making plans, for when we enter the black market." He shrugged as they continued down the street, listening to the occasional gasp and remark about the town's hotel suddenly catching aflame. "I must have lost track of time…"

"Ah, I get it," Vergo answered.

"So, you like your outfit?" Doflamingo asked, changing the topic of the conversation.

"It's good," he answered. "Nothing too elaborate, but still very nice. I think you'd really like it."

Doflamingo smiled. He could imagine, to a limited extent, the sort of design his friend might go for. He and Vergo weren't too different. They favored comfort over anything else. "Well, try not to get crumbs and shit all over it," he said, throwing his arm over Vergo's shoulder.

"Promise you won't shove me and we have a deal," Vergo replied before nudging his friend in the rib. The pain was enough to jolt Doflamingo back to his usual state, at least for a short while. It didn't take long for some of the fatigue to return again.

The streets grew crowded with nervous spectators trying to catch the fire from a safe distance, and soon it became impossible to traverse through the busy town without bumping into someone. Seeing that Diamante and company were on the run somewhere, and not wanting to garner any negative attention, Vergo and Doflamingo decided to appear as casual as possible, and walked into the nearest thrift store to distract themselves in.

Vergo pulled worn out coats to try on, and Doflamingo did his best to look interested, giving a nod and raising his hands up and pretending to care about the feel of the leather, cotton or faux furs. Considering they just landed themselves some nice suits, Vergo parading around and pulling out silky scarves and scratched up shades to wear seemed a little out of place.

"Try this on."

Doflamingo was leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, in deep thought and trying to make sense of the cruel, red stained memories his dream had dug up when Vergo tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"I think this will look good on you," Vergo said, raising something up to him. Whatever it was, it sounded heavy as Doflamingo detected something dragging on the floor. "It's real nice, trust me."

"Eh?" Doflamingo shrugged, not the least bit interested in adding yet another coat to his already heavily amassed collection. "If you like it so much, why don't you give it try?"

"No, really," Vergo insisted, pushing something soft against Doflamingo's face. It tickled. Was it feathers? "Give it try. I think it suits your style."

Considering Doflamingo's style was a collection of soft and random garments thrown together, he could only imagine what horrible thing was thrust into his hands. But he was in no mood to get Vergo to try it on first, and it wasn't like he made any effort yet to keep his friend entertained. It was time to do his part.

"Just throw it over my shoulder," he said.

"You don't want to feel it?"

"I'm afraid if I do I'll want to end you," he answered.

Vergo snorted, and Doflamingo was sure right then this was going to be a hideous piece. But then he felt something rest on him, and Vergo's hands leave him, and he realized that the coat he was wearing, while massive in its size, wasn't as heavy as he though it would be. It was mostly all feathers, Doflamingo could tell by the slight tickle going down his lack and all over his neck. Perhaps that was why it didn't feel like a burden to carry around.

"Huh," Vergo said suddenly.

"What?" he asked.

"I was just thinking," Vergo replied, "this might do some good and contrast to that boring suit of yours." He felt Vergo's hand rest on his shoulder, fixing the coat and lifting up his shoulder.

"Give me a second." Doflamingo grabbed the coat, pulling it off of him so that he could fit an arm through. Then the other. He heard Vergo mutter something, but he didn't care. He felt the inner linings of the coat, one of the few places where the cloth came and kept everything together, was surprised to discover that it was just as soft and light as the feathers lightly rubbing against his skin.

"Pink?" he asked quietly.

He didn't need to lift a hand to know he got it right on the first try. "You got it," Vergo answered. "A rather light shade too. Probably something you wouldn't wear daily, but it could work with a few of your outfits.

As people continued to talk and gossip over the fire, Doflamingo concentrated on a distant, familiar feeling welling up inside of him. Those horrible memories that had bothered him all morning and day were quieted and replaced with something warm, something he almost forgot about until now.

"Then again," he heard Vergo add, "It's a pretty big coat. And all feathers too…it'll be a pain to clean and care for."

"Yeah, you're right," Doflamingo agreed. It _was_ a secondhand coat. Of course it felt soft and light. No wonder he felt so safe and nice in it, someone had warmed it up for him. Perhaps even several. And it was all feathers. Odds are it would last only months before the elements would get to it, ruining it. What a waste of money it would be. Heck, it would be a waste to steal.

* * *

More than twenty years later, Doflamingo sat against the windowsill, feeling the light breeze carrying the smells of a summer in Dressrosa up to his room. He was awaiting a call from Punk Hazard, and though he was patient, the weather was only getting warmer, and he wasn't sure he could tolerate so many layers. His shirt was already unbuttoned, and that did little to stop the sweat.

The feather coat rested in his closet, at a distance.

Finally, the den den mushi awoke and called for him to answer. Doflamingo picked up; eager to learn what sort of nonsense was taking place without his knowledge.

He didn't think he would need the coat today.


	11. Chapter 11

Any day was a holiday if the Young Master desired.

The officers wanted a “break.” From what? It was hard to tell, but nothing could stop Doflamingo from announcing that the following day would be a nationwide holiday. The toys would keep any necessary stores open. The citizens could go out and enjoy a day off from the few stresses that naturally inhabited the easygoing and pleasant little island.

The family chose to spend their day relaxing on the white, sandy beaches. Doflamingo decreed that citizens would still be allowed to visit during the day, and could even come within close proximity of the family.

It was a sunny. Hardly any clouds were in the sky, not that it did anything to make the weather less enjoyable. Monet traded her circular, thick frames for shades. She sported a cold bottle and let the neck hang between her fingers, smiling whenever it bounced against her bare legs. Her top was loose and sheer. She had no problem letting it roll down her shoulders, showing off her bikini straps. Hair was in a messy bun. The hot sand brought a bounce to her step and she smiled knowing full well that there were men staring at her, women envious of her existence.

Everyone was watching her. She stuck her tongue out from her smirk and brought her bottle up to her face, unleashing her powers upon it before pressing it on her forehead.

Doflamingo knew people were watching. He couldn’t see it, not without looking unnatural, but he knew she was garnering an impressive collection of eyes.

It was hot. She could have used her powers to make it snow. She could give everyone swimming in the ocean a real shocker. But she continued to limit herself to just the occasional icy breeze, stopping herself from getting sweaty.

He hated it when she teased.

She knew his powers struggled in the sand. The strings sank in it, created murky images he could barely begin to process before she ran off, kicking up a white storm behind her under the guise entertainment. Baby 5 was none the wiser when she ran after her, but Doflamingo knew better. He wanted to know just how short her shorts were, how much she was showing off to the general public when she was supposed to be saving it all for him.

Doflamingo could be so greedy. He had the country and all the jealous women who were trying so hard to show off. The officers took no issue in catcalling them. She made the occasional turn, catching his reactions to Diamante’s choice of words. The girls were cooing and giggling. He grinned, but made no effort to chase after them. She nursed her bottle and wondered if he was frustrated. He knew she was out there, showing herself off. He certainly heard enough from the citizens.

She was with her sister, Baby 5 and Jora. She approached the shore and let the ocean water splash over her feet, happily embracing that dreaded feeling of helplessness so long as Dellinger was close by. Thrice she felt the tug of a string on her ankle, demanding she return to drier ground, and each time she ignored it, waiting for the water to rise high enough for the string to crumble and break.

Everyone ate together. She took her place with the women, pretending to still be distracted by their fancies. It entertained her knowing all Doflamingo had to do was ask. But he created this holiday for the family, and her king expected to be accommodated without actually having to ask for it first. She got up last minute from her towel, just missing his hungry, unforgiving grasp.

It grew cooler, and the sun began to set. Monet waited until she saw a few members of her own family begin to pack up, exhausted after spending a day under the sun, before making her way down to the larger man sitting on damp sand, facing the sun. She no longer took playful strides. She was cautious. She pulled the sleeves over her shoulders, and she was careful not to make too many movements when she sat herself down next to Doflamingo.

He knew she was close by.

She watched the sun slowly set and the orange sky turn into a beautiful, light shade of purple. She heard her sister’s voice behind them and thought of a time when the weather wasn’t so fair, food and drink scarce, and life so unbearable. The setting sun brought cold dreadful nights where she would cling to Sugar, the only warmth in her limited world, just to survive and be rewarded with another long, unforgiving day.

Now she and Sugar had beds to sleep in. She never had to fear the cold again. She possessed the cold now. Monet felt a large hand grab her by the nape of her neck, settling until she finished shivering, and then slid up into her hair, taking her by the roots. She stared at the sun, squinting to save her eyes the trouble, wincing when another possessive hand took her.

She thought about the nights they spent together. Doflamingo would hold on to her in the same manner her sister once did, afraid to let her go. The moon supplied just enough light for her to catch him _staring_ at her with his cloudy, useless eyes.

She fought against his strength to turn her head and look up at him, frowning. His lips parted, as though he were reacting her discomfort, but his hands were away from her face.

“Young Master?”

Her eyes rested on Doflamingo’s shades. She saw past them and concentrated at the shadowy figures of his eyes, her own widening in disbelief.

Sometimes it was worth the risk. Monet smiled, wondering if Crocodile knew, or if this was something just for her to keep quiet about.

A dangerous grin showed on Doflamingo’s face.

“Our little secret.”

It was _always_ worth the risk.


	12. Chapter 12

_Rocinante asked his parents what it meant to be blind. His brother was blind. Rocinante never thought much about it, until one day he looked around Mariejois and saw that this wasn’t normal. There were slaves who were blind, but it was a result of unnatural causes. Slaves being bad. The adults always taunted the slaves who could not see. They took advantage of what was viewed as a weakness. If you saw a slave with empty sockets, or cloth covering the face, you tripped it. Some of the older boys made a game of it._

_Doffy was different. He wasn’t a slave. Rocinante crawled between his parents and asked if his brother had been bad, like the slaves. He asked what his brother did that was so wrong. He remembered holding his father’s hand, trembling at the vision of his poor brother being punished._

_His parents laughed. His father rubbed his shoulders and playfully chided him for being so scared. They held him, calmed him with their warmth and gentle voices. His mother explained Doflamingo was born without the ability to see, but that it hardly mattered. In their perfect little world he would still live a normal, comfortable life. His father ran his large hand through his hair and assured Rocinante that sight wasn’t necessary to be fulfilled._

_But he was so young, and Rocinante couldn’t bear with the idea that his big brother, who taught him how to play and chase after things, who taught him funny words, who gave him a reason to follow, didn’t know what the world looked like. There had to be something._

_So he asked him._

_“What do you mean nothing?”  
_

_“That’s it,” Doflamingo answered. He kicked up his legs with every step, purposely taking large strides. Rocinante had to skip every other of his just to keep up._

_“So, it’s like when I close my eyes?” Rocinante asked. He caught up and grabbed his brother’s sleeve with his tiny hands._

_“No,” Doflamingo answered. “It’s not like that. _Cause if you have things like shadows and stuff, but I don't. I don't know the difference between open eyes and closed. Get it?”__

_"Not really," Rocinante confessed. His brother could only shrug. There were just some things that were beyond him. “But…doesn’t that make things hard?”_

_“I don’t think so,” Doflamingo answered. “I just feel my way and I remember it and that’s how I get around. Sometimes I have to listen harder. But that’s about it.”_

_“Can you keep it all in your head without always touching it?” he asked Doflamingo._

_Hid brother was quick with his reply. “Well, it’s like what you said about closing your eyes,” Doflamingo explained. “Just cause it’s not around doesn’t mean I need it. You know where everything is even when you’re not looking at it, right?”_

_Rocinante had to think about it. He looked around the massive garden, spotting his favorite flowers and he closed his eyes. He still saw the green grass, leaves, brown and red bark, and he saw his flowers. Not each and every one, but bright, colorful clouds of pink and yellow, red and white. “Right,” he said, opening them and tugging his brother’s arm._

_“And you’ll know what it still looks like, even if you close your eyes for the rest of the day, right?”_

_This time Rocinante did not hesitate to answer. “Uh-huh.”_

_“Well, I do that too,” Doflamingo said. He made a face. “I mean, I know where things are, and if you asked me to describe something I could sort of do it, but…I can’t do it like you can.”  
_

_Rocinante moved closer to his brother. “What do you mean?”_

_Doflamingo flared his nose. He pulled his arm, gesturing that it was time for the two of them to keep on moving. Rocinante followed, patiently waiting for his answer._

_“I’m taking you home,” he brother said suddenly. “And I know where it is. And I know where everything here is.”_

_“Uh-huh,” Rocinante replied._

_Doflamingo stopped. “And I know what you look like.”_

_Rocinante looked up at his brother. “Cause you touch my face.”_

_It wasn’t really a question. He knew from so many past experiences. His brother was touchy. His brother touched everything. Their mother would arrive home with new treasures, and Doflamingo would gently trace his hands over it. He would be frantic with new toys. He’d squeeze soft things. He rubbed his face against blankets. He stuck out his tongue and tasted an old coin._

_“I have everything memorized,” he answered. “I don’t need my eyes to remember cause I do it just as well with my hands.” He sounded so proud of himself. Rocinante smiled up at him._

_This was how his brother saw the world. It made so much sense, and yet it didn’t._

_Rocinante squeezed his brother’s hands. “If you didn’t use your hands would you know what I look like?_

_Doflamingo smiled. “I’d still remember after a day.”_

_“What about longer?” Rocinante asked._

_His brother chuckled. “Well, you’d get bigger, and I would want to know how you changed and how much bigger you got!”_

_Rocinante turned away from his brother, too bashful that he still felt that need to hide his blushing grin. He listened to his brother continuing to laugh at him, and then pull him, guiding him back home. Doflamingo talked about smell for a bit. He knew what types of flowers were around because of their smell. Rocinante wrinkled his nose, impressed that his brother knew so much. He didn’t even know flowers had names. He continued to squeeze his brother’s hand, imagining a world where he relied on touch and smell to paint a picture for him.  
_

_“What about colors?”_

He couldn’t remember all the details. It was such a long time ago, and he couldn’t have been more than five, maybe close to six. Doflamingo did his best to explain, but there was so much he didn’t understand. So much of the memory was lost. 

He did remember the smiles though. 

Sengoku said it would be hard. Rocinante insisted otherwise. He’d seen the papers and the reports. He knew what his brother really was.

He stared, silent, a result of his powers. He thought he could handle the seeing his brother after fourteen years of purposely avoiding him. He felt nothing when he faced the others. He had to fight a scowl when Vergo lead him to his brother’s room. But then…

“It really is you.”

He felt his brother’s hands, warm, shaking and hesitant, reaching out and touching his face, the first time in years. And even without touching his nose, or feeling his curly hair, Doflamingo _just_ knew, and Rocinante gazed back, his eyes squinting when he saw his brother’s mouth open, jaw dropping, fingers shaking more, and his breathing hastening. Vergo stepped out from his corner, ready to grab him. Doflamingo stopped him, only to then return to Rocinante, looking more frantic than ever.

Doflamingo touched his chin. His other hand grabbed his shoulder. “You’ve grown up so much!” It was almost like a desperate plea.

Rocinante heard Sengoku warning him, over and over. He saw Doflamingo’s trembling lips, the relief spreading into a messy, quivering smile, and Rocinante had to summon up a small field around him to comeback the growing lump in his throat.                                  

Doflamingo’s rose up, resting underneath his cheeks. “Oh, _Roci_ …”

Rocinante blinked, at a loss for words. He did not realize how much he had missed hearing someone call him by that name.

Doflamingo staggered out a chuckle, bringing a thumb across Rocinante’s cheek, wiping away tears that seemingly appeared out from nowhere. “Roci, don’t cry.”

He wanted to scream.


	13. Chapter 13

The taste and feel of cheap cigarettes. Doflamingo inhaled the bitter smoke, filling his lungs with a rustic, bitter warmth. The thin paper holding the tobacco together bent and shifted under the pressure of his lips. The fumes trapped in his mouth took a life of its own, filling the space under his tongue and between the smallest gaps of his teeth. The aftertaste burned the delicate tissue of his throat and inner cheeks. The trace amount of low grade nicotine had him craving for more.

As anyone would expect from a god, Doflamingo expected to surpass his friends. But like any other boy, Doflamingo wanted to fit in amongst his peers. It didn't matter if he was captain, a king to his men; some of his friends were older and could do things he couldn't. Doflamingo had to master the art of being a young man and that meant submitting to humility.

“Pucker your lips a little, then open them at the right moment,” Diamante explained one afternoon. “You can make little balls of smoke that way.”

The air smelled of salt, heat and tobacco. The sand underneath him was hot and grainy. Doflamingo could hear Vergo’s legs kicking up water as he strolled along the shore.

Doflamingo clenched the soft sand underneath him. He exhaled and smoke escaped his lips, brushed against the tips before exploding out into the darkness. 

He heard Diamante sniff. “Not bad, but you gotta use less force.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Trebol agreed. “Let it flutter out.”

“Hmm.” Doflamingo flared his nostrils, letting the remaining smoke escape and burn the delicate skin. “Flutter? Birds flutter,” he said, lifting the end of his lip slightly in the form of a mild scowl.

“Less force at the end, boss,” Diamante said. “That’s all you gotta do.”

“If you can’t do it now, you’ll never be able to make ringlets,” Pica chimed in. 

Doflamingo forced air out from his nose. “Hmm.”  He pinched the end of his cigarette, contemplating this difficult issue. It was strange to think that there was once a time where he hardly had to put any effort into anything. Doflamingo was rewarded for simply existing. He could be a man if he so desired.

“Try envisioning it?” Trebol suggested. His voice carried a nervous tremor. 

“You dumbass,” Diamante butted in. “He’s blind. You can't envision without actual vision…” A brief pause, and then Doflamingo heard him move a bit from his spot. “Can you?” Diamante asked him. 

Doflamingo could vision, but only with his strings. He knew they would pass right through the smoke.

Without answering, Doflamingo licked his lips and made a second attempt, this time letting his mouth remain open a second longer in order to “flutter” out the smoke.

“No, you gotta close your mouth,” he heard Diamante respond. “Now it’s not even a shape.”

Doflamingo expelled the rest of the smoke through his nose, burning the inside of his nostrils as he did. Yet another failure.

“Imagine a sphere, Doffy,” Pica suggested. “You need to do that with your mouth.”

“But be quick about it,” Trebol added.

So many suggestions, and all Doflamingo wanted was to criticize each of them. Twice he had failed on what should have been an easy task. As Doflamingo pretended to listen his mind returned to simpler days, back when he had been praised for every little achievement. Celestial Dragons commended him for being able to maneuver around with only a little help from slaves. They laughed, teased him for being so good at chasing after girls. And now he struggled trying to make shapes out of smoke.

Frustrated, Doflamingo took a deep inhale from his cigarette, his eyes watering from the intense heat inflaming his throat and lungs. He held his breath, let the feeling of blanketed heat settle and burn him inside, distracting him from his anger. 

“Yo, you’re almost out,” Diamante said. Doflamingo knew, and he didn't care. “Want another, boss?”

“No,” Doflamingo quickly answered, coughing up some bursts of smoke. He heard Trebol hold in a chuckle, but Pica’s shrill laughter filled the beach and overtook the sounds of crashing waves. It was just the excuse Doflamingo needed to toss the end of his cigarette aside, pick himself up and leave the group.

“Aw, come on,” he heard Diamante lament. “Doffy, don't be like that.”

“Boss? Captain?” Trebol nervously called out.

“I’m not pissed,” Doflamingo said as he approached the sound of the rolling water ahead. His feet burned against the hot sand. “Stupid, fucking idiots.”

The sand cooled, grew damp and gave under his weight. He was close to the ocean. Doflamingo heard his friends behind him, speaking to one another. About him? He didn't care, or at least he pretended not to.

He stopped when he felt the water rolling up against his ankles. He wasn't sure why, but he expected someone to have stopped him. Doflamingo waited for the water to pull away, waited a few seconds before taking a step forward, and stopped and waited for the water to return, reaching as far as his ankles.

“Hey, Doffy,” he heard Vergo call out. He sounded far away, but the waves made everything sound so distant. He couldn’t hear the rest of his crew. Good. Doflamingo opened his mouth, tasted the salt in the air before pushing out all the air in his body. He sank his toes into the wet sand and kicked it up, flinging wet chunks back into the ocean. Whatever made him feel better. The water rolled away from his ankles. The sound dulled his hearing and he didn't care.

“Fuck,” he mouthed.

They had just finished their first voyage together across the seas, spending about a week crammed together on the small vessel they had stolen. During that time Doflamingo was reminded of how vast the ocean was. Big. Huge. Unknown. Doflamingo couldn’t fathom how much space it took up. Standing at the shore, he could safely experience the coolness of the saltwater, the astringent grittiness the salt and sand left behind when the tides pulled away. Underneath it all was that foreboding pull, the eerie reminder that the ocean would ultimately reject his presence. Doflamingo knelt down and let his hands sink into the wet sand, giving him a temporary vision of what lay underneath. Right now he felt small. It wasn't the ocean’s fault.

“How far does it go?” he muttered to no one in particular. A small shadow cast over him, and Doflamingo heard something thin and sturdy sink into the sand. A pole? Pipe? No, a stick.

“Pretty far,” he heard Vergo answer him. “But it all ends somewhere.”

Everything must end somewhere. “Vergo?”

“Yeah?”

When was the last time any of his friends complimented him? And what for? Certainly not for existing, for being able to walk around without tripping over himself. They were far more impressed with his ability to survive the streets, his adaptability to his devil fruit powers, to pull a trigger without hesitation. These things, these _necessities_. None of them required sight in general, though the trait certainly helped.

Doflamingo thought of the strings and spread his fingers out. Nothing came but the memory of his mother’s soft voice. She told him there would be struggles, but that he would live a very manageable, comfortable life. Doflamingo’s hand sank further into the sand. 

“I was lied to,” he said. “All the time.”

“Who lied?” Vergo asked. “Was it Trebol?”

The other day Trebol told him his clothes were mismatched. It didn't matter if what he wore was silky, made of leather, men or women’s attire, but it did matter if it matched. Trebol said he dressed like a blind man. He said it with distinct caution, but it left a powerful impression on Doflamingo. Trebol was only being honest.

His father used to dress him.

“No,” Doflamingo said.  “You guys never lie to me. You tell me I suck at cards and making smoke balls or walking in a straight line.”

“Sorry, Doffy.”

“No.” Doflamingo lifted his hand up. The weight of the sand and water slid off the back of his hand. He was no longer over encumbered.  “No. It’s alright,” he said.

Doflamingo was convinced he would one day reach and grasp the heavens. Right now he needed another cigarette.


End file.
